Emotional OvErLoAd
by Mystrana
Summary: A songfic to "Room Without A View." A very touching piece about Kai in a mental depression, and Rei helping him out. Inspired by... my wanting to write about strong emotions. Please enjoy this fic as I did my best on it.


Sorry people. With Beyblade, all that comes out for me is angst and sadness and death. I hope at least I write it well enough by now. ^^;; This is an TWT fic (Meaning that Kai will recount some beyblade memories, but they're be fuzzy and not completely real), in which all the guys are 17. Also, I give Kai a slew of mental disorders, so don't be surprise. and finally, please note that while this is sad and stuff, it is not meant to be a dark fic, if that makes sense. ^^  
  
//In a room without a view Lots of time, nothing to do//  
  
Coldness hurts. It creeps up to me when I least expect it, when I'm most awake, and then, because I am so awake, I feel it so clearly. Each inch of my body feels an almost pleasant, dull, pain. Then the pain intensifies, puncturing my skin, and the cold penetrates past my clothes and robs my body of its heat, and then I shake violently, because it makes my skin crawl, and I can't help it and I don't know what to do and then.  
  
Someone shakes me gently, brushing my hair out of my face. Puts a blanket around me. "Are you ok?" He asks. He has blue eyes and black hair, tied back in a long ponytail. His name is Rei.  
  
I nod. The blanket brushes over my skin, chasing away the cold. The puncture wounds slowly disappear, and my heat returns. After a long minute, my shaking stops, and I sigh softly.  
  
"Will you be ok?" He asks.  
  
I am about to nod, but I know that would be a lie. I don't think I'm going to be ok at all. More and more I have been getting cold, and little feelings have intensified tenfold. When I am tired, I am not just tired, but I am in a half-coma almost, I am so tired. When I am sad, tears rush out of my eyes for no reason, and I cannot stop them. When I am happy, I want to hug everyone and can't possibly imagine how in the world I could be sad.  
  
The range of emotions I experience every single day saps me of my energy, I know. I have not seen my face in almost a year, but I can picture how it must look now. My dark blue hair probably pretty dirty and uncombed. My eyes tired, and expressionless, no matter how I feel on the inside. My cheeks and lips pale, so pale, that I could pass for one of the dead.  
  
"Will you be ok?" He repeats.  
  
This time I nod. There is nothing I can do. That is why I am here in the first place. I came here a year ago, when I killed seven men. I didn't know I did that. I only knew it the next morning when I woke up next to their dead bodies. The court ruled me insane, and sent me to this place to live the rest of my life.  
  
I should be lucky I wasn't killed, but each day I feel more dead. . . and in the end, I'll probably be dead from this place way before my time anyway, so this is really only a slow, torturous way to kill me.  
  
Bipolar . . . depression . . . insanity . . . those are some of the words they used to describe me. If I think really hard, I can remember how sad I was as a child, how easily irritable, and how irrational I was. Memories like that slip in and out of my mind so fast, I can practically feel their threads whispering past my mind.  
  
Still he looks at me, his eyes piercing into my red eyes. "Are you sure?"  
  
I open my mouth to try to say yes, but nothing comes out. A year without speaking is too hard on me, and I have not enough energy anyway.  
  
"You've been here for awhile, but you haven't done anything," he remarks. "I don't see why they put you in here anyway."  
  
In here. In here. In a room. Windowless, colourless. Not dark, but not light. I don't know where the light comes from, but neither do I know where the dark comes from.  
  
"I know your reports say you killed seven men. You just don't seem to be the type." He is talking to me, just as naturally and freely as if I were a normal person and was talking back to him.  
  
The heat I have been gaining from the blanket around me is slowly starting to destroy my body, I can feel it. I become so impossibly warm that I kick the blanket away suddenly and whimper.  
  
He looks at me with sadness in his eye. "I guess I shouldn't say I don't know why they put you in here." I know it too. I feel my emotions and feelings so strongly. Never am I just a tad depressed, I am putting a knife at my throat. Never am I a tad cold, I am shaking violently.  
  
I want to tell him I'm sorry. But I still can't speak. No one has talked to me in a year. I had only seen him around once or twice. I'm in my room, and you can't see anyone from my room.  
  
"But they should have done something about it," he continues, "Because I just know they can. And the only reason they don't now is because they're afraid of letting you out in the world after what you did, even if they think you're better."  
  
I'm just a sick person. When I was a little kid, I was a bully to the other kids. Little things they said would make me hit them, hard. Some of them bled even. Others had bruises for weeks. I was able for awhile to hide it sometimes, but after awhile, I couldn't.  
  
"I feel bad for you." He finally says, "But I don't want to say that, because I don't think you're the kind of person who wants someone feeling bad for them."  
  
I look up at him. He's right. His simple words make my heart feel full of love, every part of the muscle wrapped up in warm and fluffy things and it spreads throughout my body. I let it wash over me and smile at him.  
  
To my amazement, he smiles right back at me. "I knew it," he says.  
  
It makes me so happy inside, that I start to cry. Tears roll down my face, a warm river of feelings. He pauses, confused, and then slowly comes to me and hugs me. "I'm sorry." He says.  
  
I can't do anything, but cry into his shoulder. The tears continue to come, but I don't feel my body dry up on the inside like it usually does when I cry. Usually, when I cry, I feel each individual tear taking part of my body with it, until I am so dry on the inside that I feel like I could turn to dust. But not this time. Slowly, I fall asleep on his shoulder.  
  
//I sit, watch the days go by I don't need to wonder why//  
  
When I wake up, he is gone. Someone else is here to bring me breakfast. The warm feelings that had filled my heart are slowly going away, like many candles slowly being blown out. Silent, yet the end result is highly noticeable.  
  
I quietly eat my food, but it tastes like dust. Each bite is thousands and thousands grains of sand, rough between my teeth, and harsh on my throat, settling like dirt in my stomach. The overall feeling makes my stomach churn, and contract suddenly, and I throw up, everything I just ate.  
  
The person glares at me, and goes out to get someone to clean up the mess I just made. I am sorry that my emotions are so strong; I could help this. I don't know why, but I missed him so much, that I just can't help it. Somewhere along this, some new emotion makes my skin tingle, and it feels scary, like I am being poked with knifes. It is not cold, it is just a shiver passing through my body, but with a force that makes me squeeze my eyes tightly together and hope that it will just go away. When it does, it feels like if I shivered like that again, I would surely die.  
  
I am so tired that I close my eyes and fall asleep.  
  
//In a room without a view Lots of time, nothing to do In a room without a view, without you//  
  
I wake up again eventually, with no clue of what time it is. There is a person in my room. It is not him. It is a different person again. I am not happy with this. Anger washes over me now. I welcome it, it is what I felt a lot in my childhood. Depression and anger. Anger is a pleasant feeling. A wave of heat and cold perfectly mixed to a wonderful temper. My eyes have no expression, but my fingers curl up into fists, and then I let them relax, and then do it again.  
  
"Are you ready to try dinner now?" this person asks, nice enough, but by this point I don't care. It's not him. I want him to be here. The anger slowly grows and grows and grows into hatred. It is all directed at this one person. Looking at this person is like looking at something far away now. The face is blurry. I can't see it, so I move closer to see it, slowly.  
  
The person blinks, but in the blur, and haze, I do not see it. The person backs away, but I move quickly. I hate this person so much now. All my hatred is rolling into one ball, a ball that lets me see clearly past the fog and the blur. Lets me see what I want to see, and only what I want to see. Throat. Face. Fear.  
  
I would cry out, by my voice betrays me and no sound comes out.  
  
//This room is the perfect size And it never tells me lies//  
  
Once again I am asleep. When I wake up, I feel pleasantly rested. To my immense joy, he is back. His blue eyes are sad, but not scared. Not like the other people who come here to me. The other people are scared, they have fear in their eyes. It is always there.  
  
"Do you remember what happened yesterday?" He asks.  
  
I shake my head instantly. Everything is foggy, blurring with every other day, save for the first day he talked to me.  
  
"You almost killed one of the staff," he replies. My eyes widen. "Several nurses had to come to pull you off. . . luckily, there was no death in the end. . ."  
  
No. . . I don't want to kill! I want to be happy! When he is around, I am happy! I feel so hopeless. Nothing makes sense. I don't know what to do or anything, so my body fails me and I fall to the ground. In a moment, he has his arms around me again, and slowly he carries me back to my bed.  
  
"They are going to try to help you now," he adds. "I'm sad they had to wait until this to happen before they even thought about it, but I'm glad."  
  
He pauses, and looks at me. The shiver goes through my body again, starting at the nape of my neck and rolling down my spine, causing me to arch my back as if in pain. "Are you ok?" he asks instantly.  
  
I nod.  
  
"I know you can feel everything so clearly and strongly," he says softly, almost wistfully. "It seems like it must be great sometimes."  
  
Only sometimes. Like now, the feelings of being loved were back again. My heart swelled as though someone had put cotton in it, and it felt wonderful. Other times, like when he wasn't there . . .  
  
He lightly puts a hand on my shoulder. "When I touch you, you must feel it more clearly then I do. I wish sometimes I could feel that clearly."  
  
It's true. Once, a kid poked me in the back with a pencil to get my attention. The pencil was dull, I was told, but I let out a cry like I had been punctured with a steel pole. The kid got detention, even though it wasn't his fault. I felt bad for that kid, but I couldn't do anything.  
  
But now his hand on my shoulder feels nice. He's just lightly resting his hand. Not too hard. Not pressing or anything. I smile at him. It is all I can do.  
  
"When they help you, you won't be able to feel like this anymore," He says softly.  
  
I know. I don't care.  
  
//Many pleasant memories All repeating worthlessly//  
  
"It'll be different."  
  
I know. But I don't care.  
  
"I like you a lot," he continues. "It's kinda weird. I know you've killed people and stuff, and you're not exactly what people would call normal, but I like that. I want to know you because you're different."  
  
I feel the same way. I have been by myself for a year. It's been so long.  
  
"I won't even mind when you're feeling better."  
  
I smile. And then he slowly hugs me. When I was a little kid, my mom would always hug me. Every day, every morning. She would hug me and tell me she loved me, and I would do and say nothing. But I think she knew. I think she knew, and she didn't care that I didn't do anything. She said it every morning.  
  
I slowly move my arms and hug him back.  
  
//In a room without a view Lots of time, nothing to do In a room without a view, without you//  
  
The very next morning, along with my breakfast I get to swallow no less than 10 different pills. He told me in advance that the doctors are not sure what ones will work and what ones won't, but I have to take them all anyway.  
  
I had nodded. And today I took them all, just for him.  
  
I didn't feel any different at first. After a few hours, however, I noticed that the room was quiet. Up until now, I had always heard a loud buzzing noise, but now I noticed it was quiet. It was really quiet. The room wasn't really that bright either, it was rather dimly light. I felt slightly confused, and that's when I realized it.  
  
I was only slightly confused. I wasn't so confused that it hurt my head. I thought about this for a moment, and smiled a little. I was a bit happy too. A blend of emotions instead of one single emotion. It felt different, yet pleasant. I couldn't describe it if I tried. One emotion at a time is easy. So many emotions blend together like a chorus and it's just right.  
  
It felt . . .  
  
I felt.  
  
//here I find security, no problems here for me This is where I want to be//  
  
The next day, I was only give five pills. I didn't feel sad at all, but I was so happy, my face hurt from smiling so much. The next day, I got three. I didn't feel depressed, but I didn't feel happy. I felt so neutral that it almost hurt.  
  
He came visit me that night.  
  
"How are you feeling?" He asks.  
  
I shrug, and look at him with a lost expression.  
  
"I don't actually know what they're doing to you," he says, "But it's not going to hurt you, ok?"  
  
I nod slowly. It hurts almost.  
  
No matter what happens. . . I'm stuck here . . .  
  
//It don't matter what I want A room with out a view is what I've got//  
  
I wake up with tears in my eyes, and I don't know why. He's there to tell me though.  
  
"Yesterday they gave you some pills that didn't seem to work well for you," he says. "You. . . got upset, and . . ." he trails off, and I realize what happened.  
  
"I'm sorry," I whisper. My voice sounds strange in my own ears. His eyes widen slightly, and right away he gets up and hugs me.  
  
"It's not your fault. They should have helped you sooner."  
  
I can feel his every move, his every touch, every place where his body touches mine. I can feel his tears land on my shoulder.  
  
I cry too.  
  
//Here I find security, so please don't bother me This is where I ought to be And whether I like it or not A room without a view is what I've got//  
  
Over the course of the next few weeks, I am giving many different combinations of pills. Finally, they seem to strike upon something that makes me feel. . . right.  
  
I don't feel the cold as strongly any more.  
  
I get this combination every day now. I feel more and more . . . different, but in a good way. Once again, there is no way to explain it. For once in my life, I'm glad. Weeks go by. I get. . . better, and better . . . and it feels so nice.  
  
He comes visit me every day now, and it is the highlight of my day every time. I hug him, and we talk, and it's great. I feel so right that words escape me.  
  
"You're doing a lot better these days," he agrees with me.  
  
"I can eat my food and it doesn't taste like dirt anymore," I say, proud of myself. "I haven't gotten mad at anyone in days."  
  
"You are doing great," he smiles.  
  
//In a room without a view Lots of time, nothing to do//  
  
Then one morning, they make a mistake with my pills. I took ten, but I didn't get the pleasant blend of emotions that I usually get. Instead, my feelings were clouded, and blurry. I felt sadness, incredible sadness. And pain. Slowly the pain surrounds me, an aura of needles, continually poking me.  
  
Mild annoyance builds up into mild impatience.  
  
"How are you this morning?" He asks as he comes in today, smiling as always.  
  
I can't smile back, the pain. It hurts. The shudder, is back, only not in a good way at all. I think my body is ripping into many different pieces. I can't feel anything but pain. It hurts so much, that I don't have any emotion left to cry out.  
  
"What's wrong?" He asks, coming over quickly. "It's ok, it's ok." He says this over and over, trying to calm me down.  
  
But it's not working. It's not working at all. I can only feel pain. It's not ok. I'm not used to strong emotions any more, and this hurts so much. I want it to go away. I tear at myself, as if to fling the needles away. But they are invisible needles, and I cannot get rid of them.  
  
"It's ok. Calm down, it's ok, it's ok, it's ok," he repeats, but it's too late.  
  
//I sit, watch the years go by I don't need to wonder why//  
  
"I can't!" I cry loudly. "I can't!" It's too much, too confusing. Too little time. It won't go away. It never will go away. I'm always going to feel emotions stronger than anyone, and I can't take it. I scratch at my skin, in my frenzy, hard enough to draw blood. My body feels numb; tears are running down my face.  
  
"I want -" I say softly, trying to concentrate on my words. The pain from the scratches I gave myself doesn't hurt as much as the needles still poking at me. "I wanted to be able to be with you, like a normal person."  
  
He stares at me with tears in his eyes. I want to hug him, but I know that the needles will poke him then too, and he will hurt too. I don't want him to hurt too. This is my pain only. But still I walk towards him. As a helper here, I know he must have what I'm looking for.  
  
I don't want the pain anymore. I give up. My mind is clearer than it has been in years. With the help of this new calm I hug him one last time, and while I do that, I take the pen out of his pocket, and before he can stop me, I take it, and shove it with enough force to pierce my skin, into my throat.  
  
For a long moment, I can't breathe as my windpipe has been crushed. The pain overcomes me, and my eyes close, and I fall.  
  
I fall and fall, but I never hit the ground.  
  
//In a room without a view Lots of time, nothing to do In a room without a view, without you//  
  
He sits, now, silent. He has no reason to talk. No one knows why he is so silent, but they speculate that he must have seen something horrible to go so quiet. They leave him alone. And he just sits on.  
  
He just sits on and on forever. 


End file.
